


The Years of Growth

by shadowsamurai



Series: The Affinity Chronicles [3]
Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Explicit Language, Friendship, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 12:03:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsamurai/pseuds/shadowsamurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 3 of The Affinity Chronicles shows Boyd and Grace's relationship as it strains as they develop into different people. The Years of Growth with feature tales from the day their lives split into two to the day they realise thing will never be the same, forcing them to make some very tough decisions. Join Boyd and Grace as the journey of their friendship continues, where saying goodbye is almost as hard as saying 'I'm sorry'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Changes

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm just borrowing things for a while and I promise I'll put everything back exactly how I found it when I've finished. Well, almost exactly how I found it. ;)

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

Peter stormed up the path to his house and flung the front door open, not caring if his parents where in and heard him, not caring about the glares he was receiving from the neighbours. He didn't care about anything except being left alone.

"Try not to destroy the house, son," Joseph called. "And don't leave your bag in the hallway!"

Peter scowled in the direction his father's voice had come from, halfway to dropping his bag on the floor. Hoisting it onto his shoulder again, he started up the stairs, his feet connecting heavily with each step he took.

"There a letter here for you," Joseph said, walking into the hallway.

Peter stopped. "Who's it from?"

"You're home early," his father replied instead. "Has something happened?"

Peter scowled. "No."

Joseph sighed. "Look, son, I know you miss Grace…."

"This has nothing to do with her!" Peter shouted. "How can it? She isn't here!"

"Exactly my point, but she'll be back for Christmas I expect. Now, are you going to tell me why you're so angry all of the time?"

"No," Peter replied after a while. "It's nothing."

Clearly nothing could have been further from the truth, but Joseph let it slide. "And why are you home early? Won't the university complain?"

Peter laughed. "I doubt it; it's their fault I'm here."

Joseph sighed again, this time a little disappointment rising in him. "What happened?"

"I-I got into a fight," Peter said quietly, sitting down on a step and not looking at his father. "They said that my behaviour was despicable and along with my abysmal grades, they decided to ask me to leave."

"They expelled you."

"This is university, Dad," Peter replied. "Attendance isn't compulsory, so they can't expel you. Then can ask you to leave rather forcefully, though."

"It amounts to the same thing," Joseph snapped. "Don't get smart with me."

Peter finally looked up. "I'm sorry, Dad. But university wasn't for me."

"What now?"

"The police have been around looking to recruit over the past couple of weeks," Peter said. "I'm going to see someone tomorrow."

"That was fortunate for you," Joseph replied in a deceptively mild voice.

Peter grunted. "Not really. They saw me brawling and were ready to tell me I wasn't police force material, but my other qualities outshone my temper."

Joseph raised his eyebrows. "What other qualities?"

"How should I know? Just telling you what they said." He looked hopefully at his father. "So, erm, can I have my letter now? Please?"

Joseph sighed, smiled and shook his head. "I suppose so," he said, handing the envelope over. "But you'll have to tell your mother as soon as she gets home."

Peter was already on the move again, taking the stairs two at a time now. "I will!" He slammed his bedroom door shut, dropped his bag on the floor and flopped onto his bed, remembering at the last minute to kick his shoes off.

He tore open the letter, eager to see what news Grace had for him, eager for some sort of contact with her.

*'Dear Peter,

You would not believe what happened to me yesterday! It was fantastic….'*

Peter's bad mood suddenly re-emerged with every word he read. By the time he reached the bottom of the letter, he was so furious he couldn't see straight. Without thinking, he screwed the paper up and hurled it across the room, completely unsatisfied by the quiet noise it made as it landed on the floor.

Not once had Grace asked how he was; not once had she expressed any sort of interest in his life; and the end of the letter, 'I'll write again soon!', caused Peter the most pain. It brought home everything that frustrated him, everything that made him angry, and the reason he had been fighting earlier that day.

Peter had always been an outcast; from the moment he had been born he had been different because he didn't cry. But he had always had Grace, though she once tried to reject him because she thought she was 'too cool' for him. She came back to him, though, and he had never been alone since. As long as Grace was with him, Peter didn't care that people called him names or gave him strange glances or crossed the street to avoid him.

But now he didn't have Grace. From the sounds of it, she had her own life at university and wasn't giving a second thought to Peter, still stuck at home. 'Out of sight, out of mind' sprung up in Peter's thoughts and he felt so angry it scared him. He resented everything around him, every person who was connected to his life, and especially Grace. And Peter found himself hating with such conviction he thought it would consume him like fire.

Then he heard the front door shut, a sign his mother was home, and the rage threatened to burst over when his father shouted, unnecessarily, "Peter!" For a moment, for one terrible second, Peter almost shouted back, unleashed his fury on his parents. The realisation hit him like a slap around the face and he paled. His parents didn't deserve his behaviour, but he couldn't help it. The object of his anger wasn't there; all the people who shunned him for being different.

"Coming!" Peter called back, tempering his voice. He wasn't afraid of hearing the disappointment in his mother's voice when he told her what had happened; he'd be worried if he didn't hear it.

What scared Peter the most, and added to his anger, was that he might actually break down and start crying at the sheer damned injustice of it all.

TBC


	2. Children Again

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

Grace took a deep breath and willed herself to be calm. It took a great deal of effort. "Everything we need is on the list, Mother," she said, surprised at how light her tone was. "I wrote the list so it would make things easier for us as I know how much you hate shopping."

"There's no need to take that tone with me," Mary replied sharply. "I'm not one of your posh university 'chums'."

Grace raised her eyebrows. "Posh? Oh please."

"Besides, the list is at home."

"Mother!"

"You said you were going to bring it," Mary said, sighing impatiently.

By some sort of miracle, Grace didn't scream in frustration. She had been home less than a week and already she was looking forward to going back to university. The one place on the planet Grace didn't want to be was the one place she was stuck, and things could only get worse.

"Look, I think I can remember what was on the list," Grace said eventually. "Why don't you go and wait in the car and let me finish the shopping?"

Mary screwed her nose up a little. "That's the best suggestion you've had so far. If you can pay, I'll give you the money when you give me the receipt."

"You cannot be serious."

"I'm certainly not joking," her mother replied.

"I don't have any money!" Grace protested.

"Then let's hope you can remember the list as well as you said you could," Mary replied, marching forward with the trolley, but she called over her shoulder, "You've changed, Grace. I'm not sure it's for the better."

Grace had never been particularly violently minded, but at that moment she thought she might take a leaf out of Peter's book, consequences be damned. A small flame of guilt flared in Grace at the thought of her best friend; she still hadn't been to see him. She knew she was putting the reunion off; after all, she *had* changed, and she guessed he had as well. Would they still be best friends?

A man at the end of the aisle caught Grace's eye but as she looked straight at him, he looked away. Grace frowned. If she didn't know better, she would have said it was Peter. But that was impossible. The Peter she knew was tall, like the man she had seen, but he was relatively slim, despite being broad shouldered. Grace shook her head and decided her mind was playing tricks on her.

"Hello."

But when she heard the voice, she knew it had been him. Grace turned slowly and tried not to gasp at the man she saw before her. It had been almost a year since she had last seen Peter; she had spent the Christmas and Easter holidays at university studying. She knew he would have changed, but this…this was something else.

Peter had bulked out rather impressively and he walked with confidence. His clothes weren't expensive, but there were well cut and suited him. His hair was slightly longer than Grace remembered, and he'd even grown a goatee, which she couldn't decide whether she liked or not.

"Hi."

For his part, Peter couldn't believe it was Grace. He had been upset when she didn't come home at Christmas, and again when she was away at Easter, but she remembered to write occasionally, and besides, Peter now had another friend, not that Nick could ever take Grace's place.

So when Peter saw Mary in the supermarket, he had automatically moved to avoid her and ended up face to face with someone who looked like Grace. Only it couldn't be. More makeup, but not too heavy; stylish clothes; different hairstyle. But the moment Peter saw her eyes, she knew it was Grace.

"So, how have you been?" Peter asked.

Grace forced herself to nod, ignoring the thrills that went through her at the sound of his deep voice. "Fine. You? You look well."

"Thanks. I'm doing alright."

"Are you still at university?"

Peter gave a rueful smile. "No. They, er, 'asked' me to leave."

"Oh," Grace replied, smiling back. "So what are you doing now?"

"Apart from shopping?" he retorted. "I'm a police officer. Beat bobby at the moment, but it's good experience. And they finally partnered me with someone I can get on with. Chap called Nick Patterson. Nice guy."

"That's good," Grace said genuinely pleased.

"And what about you?"

"Still at university, studying away. Attending the odd party if I get the chance."

"But you're happy."

Grace briefly wondered what would have happened if she said no. "Yeah, I'm happy."

Peter smiled, the smile he reserved only for Grace. "That's good. Listen, I've got to go. Besides, your mum will be wondering where you are and if she catches us talking…."

Grace rolled her eyes. "Don't."

"If you get chance…I mean, if you've got the time spare….and you want to…maybe we could…spend some time together?"

And in that instant, they were children again with no worries in the world. Grace grinned. "That would be great. I'll let you know."

"Make sure you do," Peter told her before walking off.

"What on *earth* have you been doing?" Mary snapped as she came into sight.

Grace rolled her eyes again. "Nothing, Mother. Let's finish the shopping and go home."

TBC


	3. Breaking Point

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

Peter hated beat duty in the rain. Well, he hated it full stop, but especially in the rain. It took him all the time he was off duty to get dry and then he was back at work, getting wet again. It was a vicious, futile circle and the sooner he completed his mandatory pavement pounding - the powers that be called it 'training' - the better. Peter had already gone through one pair of shoes and who knew how many pairs of socks, and while his budget was significantly larger now than it had been, it still wasn't kingly. Plus, if he had to rescue one more cat from a tree….

A car pipped and came to a halt next to him. "Morning, Peter," Nick Patterson said, grinning broadly. "Nice weather we're having."

Peter scowled. "Get knotted, Patterson."

"Not very nice. Especially not when I was about to offer you a lift back to the station."

"My shift hasn't finished."

Nick became serious. "I'm afraid it has. I'm sorry, Peter, your father's in hospital. He collapsed at work, suspected heart attack."

"He's too young!" Peter exclaimed when he willed his voice to work again.

"I know, and I'm sorry," Nick repeated. "Come on, get in. Listen, I can take you to the hospital if you want. Might be better. Don't think you're in a fit state to be driving."

Peter was about to argue but instead he just nodded curtly. "Yeah. Thanks."

They drove without speaking, the only sound coming from the window wipers trying valiantly to keep the rain off the windscreen. Suddenly a car came speeding in the opposite direction, overtaking two cars dangerously and narrowly missing Peter and Nick.

"What the fuck?" Peter exclaimed, holding onto the door as Nick swerved to avoid collision.

"I don't know, mate, but we're about to find out!" Nick replied, switching the flashing blue light on as he swung the car around and began pursuit, the police siren wailing loudly.

It was dangerous, especially with the bad weather, but Nick was a good driver and besides, at that moment in time, Peter wasn't bothered what happened. All he could think about was his father in hospital, and his best friend too many miles away to offer him any sort of comfort.

They chased the car for miles and both of them became increasingly frustrated when the driver ignored repeated signals to pull over.

"You'd better call for back up," Nick said through gritted teeth.

Peter understood. They were both rookies, though Nick had the edge because he was already a police driver, and to get an arrest like this early on in their career would be a big break.

"Yeah, alright," Peter replied, reaching for the radio. But as he did, he saw something he was certain Nick hadn't noticed. "Go left!"

Nick reacted instinctively, trusting his friend's judgement; as a result, they missed a dog that had just run into the road. Nick exhaled noisily. "Shit. Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Peter replied, grinning. "Oh crap! Watch out! Stop!"

Nick jammed the brakes on and the car skidded, spinning slightly. In front of them, the car they were chasing had hit another but the driver was trying to make a run for it, albeit on very unsteady legs.

Nick had only just got his seatbelt undone when Peter was out of the car and chasing after the man. Repeated hails of 'stop, police!' went unnoticed and Peter's patience was finally running out. Eventually, though, he gained on the man and instead of attempting anything like civility, he simply rugby tackled him.

"What…the *fuck*…is it…about…stop…that you…don't understand, you…fucking *idiot*?" Peter shouted breathlessly while the man he was pinning ate tarmac. "Alright, get up. You're under arrest for bloody dangerous driving, ignoring a police officer and attempting to evade arrest and…. Shit!" Peter had just taken a deep breath and had inhaled the alcohol fumes coming off the man he'd just arrested. "And drink driving because if you're not over the limit, I'm a fucking tree."

"Need a hand?" Nick asked conversationally.

"No, it's alright. You just take your time," Peter replied. "Help me get him up, will you? Idiot's pissed as a rat."

Nick grabbed one arm of the man while Peter got off him and grabbed the other. Together they hauled him to his feet, simultaneously screwing their noses up and moving away from the stench.

"Bloody hell, is there any alcohol left in the pub you've just come from, mate?" Nick asked.

But Peter, having seen the man's face, went white. "Oh shit."

"Boyd? Is that you?" the man asked in a slurred tone. "You fucker, let me go!"

Nick looked at his friend. "You know this guy?"

"Unfortunately. His name's William Foley," Peter replied, not expanding on how he knew him. "Come on, let's get him to the station. I've got better things to do with my time than spend it around him."

"Look at you, thinking you're so smart, better than the rest of us!" William slurred, taunting him. "You're still trash, Boyd, you always will be, just like your father…."

Peter moved so quickly Nick barely registered what had happened; one minute William was upright, the next he was on his back nursing a bloody nose.

"Shit, mate! You shouldn't have done that," Nick said, staring at Peter.

"He resisted arrest," Peter replied flatly. "You want to report me, after what he just said?"

"Don't be stupid," Nick snapped. "You know I'd never do that. I'm just saying you shouldn't have done it."

"Maybe not. Let's get him back to the station."

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

An hour later, Nick dropped Peter off at the hospital and told him not to worry about anything. "Listen, Foley's so pissed no one's going to believe him over you," Nick said.

"Yeah. Maybe. Look, Nick, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have put you in this position…."

"What position? You'd do the same for me, right?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah."

"Then don't worry about it. Just worry about your parents, and if you want to talk later, you know where I am."

"Thanks. See you tomorrow."

Peter made his way through the hospital, noting in passing how much he hated them. He found his mother in the visitor's room, nursing a cup of something that looked like tea, but Peter wasn't sure. When she saw him, Elizabeth put the cup down carefully before rushing to him.

"Oh, Peter!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him.

Peter had to bend his knees to accommodate his mother, and after walking the streets for a few hours, his legs objected to the additional stress. But he didn't mind; not for his mother.

"I got here as soon as I could," he said. "Would have been here sooner but something came up."

She patted his cheek fondly. "You're just like your father, dedicated to your job." Elizabeth started to sob about and Peter held her close.

"It's alright, Mum. I'm here now."

After a while she calmed down again and as they both sat, Elizabeth looked at her son. "So, tell me about your day."

Peter smiled as she held her hands. She always asked him the same thing when he came home; since he had started working as a policeman, it had become ritual. "It was alright," he replied.

Elizabeth stared at him. She knew he wasn't telling the truth and after a few minutes of intense scrutiny, Peter sighed and told her what had happened. She didn't judge him; she rarely did and even if she had wanted to, her mind was on her sick husband.

"Mum, why did you and Grace's parents fall out?" Peter asked eventually.

Elizabeth sighed and turned away. "I don't know. I think your father and William had some sort of disagreement, but please don't ask about what. I don't know. Joseph never told me." She looked back at Peter. "You should tell Grace about the incident before she gets a twisted version from her mother."

Peter nodded. "I'll do it now," he said, heading off to find a payphone.

But Grace wasn't in. Some giggling girl answered and hung up before Peter could leave a message. He thought about trying again but then decided against it; he would just wait until Grace came home for a holiday and explain it then. It wouldn't be leaving it too late; after all, they were best friends, so what did time matter?

TBC


	4. The Hardest Word

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

Grace was so furious that she had to return to the paper shop three times before she had everything she went for. The shop keeper normally asked after her family and how she was doing at university, having watched Grace grow up, but that day he kept his mouth shut. Whoever she was angry at, he was glad it wasn't her.

"What took you so long?" Mary shouted at soon as Grace opened the front door.

"There was a queue," Grace lied.

"Have you got them?"

Wordlessly, Grace went into the living room and handed her mother the puzzle books. "One of the ones you wanted was out of stock so I got this instead."

Mary scowled at the puzzle book. "You should have asked me first."

"When they invent mobile telephones, Mother, then I'll be able to," Grace said rather sharply.

"There's no need to take that tone with me, Grace," Mary replied firmly. "It's not my fault if you have no sense to pick decent friends." She sniffed. "I've always said that Boyd boy was trouble."

"No, Mother, you haven't," Grace snapped. "I remember when *Peter* and I were younger, we would play together all the time because you were good friends with his parents! It's how *we* became such good friends in the first place!"

"Don't blame us," Mary said haughtily. "And wipe that muck off your face. Your father will be home soon."

Grace stared incredulously at her mother. "I'm almost twenty five! If I want to wear makeup, I will!"

"I will not have my daughter looking like some cheap tart!"

There was a resounding slap and then Mary was clutching her cheek, looking shocked, but not as surprised as her daughter. Grace's eyes were wide and her mouth was hanging open slightly; it was almost as if she had watched someone else hit her mother.

"Oh, Mother, I'm sorry," Grace said, dropping to her knees by Mary's chair.

There was a long pause. "I won't tell your father, but if you *ever* do that again, I will."

Grace frowned. "How is that a threat, Mother?"

"Don't use your psychobabble nonsense on me," Mary snapped.

Just then the front door slammed shut, and both women turned to look at the doorway. Mary quickly grabbed a puzzle book and opened it. William appeared, swaying slightly, his eyes unfocussed.

"Why are you on the floor, Grace?" he asked, and she was astonished to hear him slurring his words.

"Helping Mother with this puzzle," Grace replied coolly. "It's the competition one."

William waved a hand. "More bloody competitions. All crap, if you ask me." He turned and tottered into the kitchen.

Grace stared at her mother. "He's drunk."

Mary nodded sadly. "Yes. It happens a lot."

"Was he…? Mother, did you tell me the truth about Peter?" Grace asked in a hushed voice.

The silence was all the reply she needed. When Grace had come home for the holidays, she had learnt from her mother that William had been unjustly arrested by Peter. Grace, thinking her friend was just out to prove himself in his new job, had gone round to his house and tore strips off him. Peter had stood and took it all, then slammed the door in her face. It wasn't until a few days later that Grace learnt of his father's death; by then she felt it was too late to say she was sorry.

And now she had found out Peter's actions were just, she knew it was never too late to apologise. But she didn't want to leave Mary on her own.

"Mother, come for a walk with me," Grace said. She wasn't too surprised when Mary nodded in agreement.

A little while later, Grace took a deep breath and knocked on Peter's door. "You didn't tell me we were coming here," Mary grumbled.

"Mother, I am sick of this, and I'm sure Peter is as well. Whatever happened between you and his parents is none of his fault," Grace said. "So don't take it out on him."

"Kind words from someone who supposedly hates me."

Peter's deep voice startled Grace, but as she turned around she managed a weak smile. "I was wrong," she admitted without preamble. "It's not the first time and it certainly won't be the last. I want to apologise."

Peter crossed his arms across his broad chest. "For what exactly?"

"For falsely accusing you, for being wrapped up in myself, and for shouting."

"Okay."

"And I'm very sorry about your dad," Grace said, starting to reach for Peter, but then changing her mind.

"Thank you," Peter replied, still stony-faced.

"Peter, darling, who is it?" Elizabeth called.

"Grace and her mother," he shouted back.

"Well don't stand chatting on the doorstep. Invite them in."

Peter scowled and Grace decided it was a look that, unfortunately, suited him. Silently he stepped to one side and let them into the house, leading them then into the kitchen. Elizabeth had aged dramatically since Grace had last seen her, and before she realised what she was doing, she had crossed the room and embraced Peter's mother.

"I am so sorry."

Elizabeth smiled and patted Grace on the back. "Don't worry about it, my dear. These things happen. Joseph and I had a good many years together and I have Peter."

Watching her daughter hugging another mother made something break in Mary and she started to cry. Grace disengaged herself from Elizabeth but before she could reach her mother, Peter had wrapped his arms around her. Mary clung to him, not realising who it was, just that they were strong and she felt protected.

Eventually, Mary calmed down and looked up in surprise at Peter's gentle face. "Thank you," she murmured.

Peter just shrugged and made a noncommittal noise. Elizabeth made some tea, but Grace and Peter declined. Wordlessly they watched as their mothers began talking, tentatively at first, and then like the old friends they were. Grace tugged Peter's sleeve, not brave enough to take his hand, and motioned her head towards the door.

"Are you ever going to forgive me?" Grace asked as they walked down by the river.

Peter sighed and put his hands in his pockets. "I was never really angry with you. Just…hurt. We've been friends all our lives, Grace, yet you never even bothered to see what my side of the story was. Oh, and incidentally, I didn't actually arrest your father. It was my friend, Nick. He picked me up and was taking me to hospital to see my father."

"I'm sorry, Peter." Grace grimaced. "How about I just say one big sorry? Would that cover everything?"

Peter gave a small laugh. "I think so."

Happy once again, Grace linked arms with him. "How's the police force?"

"Hard work. How's university?"

"Hard work." She paused. "I missed you."

"I missed you too."

"Let's not let this happen again, okay?"

"Let's not."

TBC


	5. As Time Goes By

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

The idea was simple; they were to be friends forever. They were to share everything, spend time with each other whenever possible, protect and care for each other. It sounded like such a good idea, in theory and in practice, and it had worked for a time, but then things, inevitably, changed.

Grace was no longer Peter's to protect, and Peter was no longer Grace's to care for. Both shrugged off the changes; both claimed to be unbothered by them. They both lied, to each other, to themselves, to those around them, and soon the lie became a reality that neither could change.

Many a night, Peter would sit alone in his flat, drinking cheap whisky because it was all he could afford, and try to pinpoint exactly when things had changed between him and his best friend. In another part of the country, Grace would do the same, having escaped whatever party she was attending, glass of wine in hand.

Both, separately, came up with the same conclusion: life had happened. Life had intervened and they had let it. And now, close to their thirtieth birthdays, they were such different people, people who had only kept in touch through Christmas cards and the odd letter.

The best source of information was the mothers, Elizabeth and Mary. Once their friendship had been repaired, the two were virtually inseparable, much like their children once had been. Elizabeth helped Mary through her divorce with William, and Mary helped Elizabeth sort through Joseph's things. They joined several groups and were rarely at home. It was through them that Peter and Grace learnt about each other.

Somehow - Grace was shocked as she had done a great deal of partying, but her mother was not surprised - Grace had completed her degrees and PhD, and was now Dr Foley. Mary cried every time she told someone.

While Peter hadn't done as well as that, he had been noticed by his peers and offered a job in CID instead of pounding the streets. He took it and was recently promoted to DC. Elizabeth didn't cry when she told people, but she was equally as proud.

Both old friends were happy enough with their lives, but they knew something was missing; each other.

One day, Peter heard of a party he was expected to attend. Something to do with work, though not a policeman's ball. He wasn't paying attention. Instead he nodded, didn't smile, and said he'd be there. He was already plotting his excuses for leaving.

The night was upon Peter before he realised, and wearing the only decent suit he had, along with a permanent scowl, he turned up at the party and headed straight for the bar. There he stayed, nursing his whisky and discouraging anyone from talking to him with just a look. He didn't like being such a grouch, but he couldn't find much to be happy about. His girlfriend had just left him; he'd lost count how many had walked out on him over the past few years, and always with the same complaint.

*'The job is more important than I am.' 'I feel like you're always thinking of someone else.' 'Is there someone else?'*

Peter wanted to reply 'you're damn right!', 'I am - anyone but you', and 'I wish there was' every time he heard one of those accusations. He shook his head. No point looking backwards; can't go there. So instead he looked forwards and his eyes automatically fell on the attractive back of a brunette.

For a while Peter stared, frowning as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Then a tall, handsome man made his way to the brunette's side and Peter sighed. Typical. The good ones were always taken. But she didn't seem happy with him. In fact, she pushed him away and stalked off. The man waited a moment before handing his glass to a friend and following her.

Peter downed his drink and slammed his glass on the bar, making his way quickly through the crowd, spotting the couple as they left through a side door. Once outside, it wasn't too difficult to follow them; the sounds of shouting were clear through the night air. Suddenly the shouting stopped and Peter felt cold. Breaking into a run, he soon came across the couple, the man leaning over the woman.

Without thinking, he grabbed the man's collar and hauled him backwards, sending him sprawling to the floor. Peter kicked him in the ribs, again and again, then turned to the woman.

"Grace, are you alright?"

Peter wasn't prepared for the blazing fury in her eyes, or the slap that made him see stars.

"You fucking *idiot*!" Grace screamed. "What did you think you were doing?" She shoved Peter out of the way and knelt by the man. "Darren. Darren, can you hear me, darling? Oh my God."

Peter was stunned. "Darren? Darling? But I thought…." He never got any further.

Grace stood and whirled on him, her eyes flashing. "That's your problem, Boyd, you don't bloody well think! You *never* think! You act and assume everything will be fine afterwards! Well it won't be! If you want to keep your job in the police, you might want to learn a little more self control!"

"What the hell was I supposed to do?" Peter shouted back, gesturing with both hands. "I see this guy hassling you, he follows you outside and then you both start arguing! When the noise stopped, I thought…."

Again Grace cut in. "No, that's the thing, you didn't think! Don't you get it? I'm not yours to look after any more." She shook her head. "You should have learnt to let me go before now, Boyd. Instead you're going to lose me with your pig-headedness!"

"That's the second time you've called me Boyd," Peter said, his voice deadly calm. "Like father like daughter, eh?"

Grace tried to slap him again but he was ready this time and caught her wrist. For a moment they stared at each other, hatred they never knew they could feel pouring out and washing over them both. It was only Darren's groans that broke the moment, and both Peter and Grace stepped backwards suddenly, as though they had been burnt.

In that brief instant, quick healing words should have been spoken, but neither of them knew how to. All they could see were the tattered remains of their friendship. As soon as Grace turned, the moment was over and still Peter couldn't move.

"Come on, Darren, let's get you home," Grace said, helping him to his feet.

They walked slowly off, Peter watching them, waiting for Grace to turn around, waiting for her to smile or say everything would be alright. But the comfort never came. She disappeared into the darkness and through the silence Peter could hear the one word that almost killed him.

Goodbye.

FIN


End file.
